


Positively careless

by depresane



Series: Vissenvaib the Gorion's Blunderer [2]
Category: Baldur's Gate, Forgotten Realms
Genre: Autism, Autism Spectrum, Candlekeep, Childhood, Pre-Canon, Slice of Life, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-11-02 10:03:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20708441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/depresane/pseuds/depresane
Summary: What's that? Another unfinished story? You bet!





	Positively careless

A citadel of scholars, savants, soldiers, and monks sounds like a dull place where focus comes at a price of leisure. Indeed, Candlekeep used to maintain silence and solemnity with very few places for sophisticated kinds of entertainment. But times have changed, and rest started to be encouraged by expert researchers. The scholars and authorities brainstormed ideas for Candlekeep’s annual, monthly and daily free-time activities.  
Thus, the citadel’s first tavern was erected; the library added a stage for troubadours and itinerant actors; one more stage stood in the garden; a cat breeder established his sole corporation; finally, local chroniclers began exploring fiction, writing Candlekeep’s first novels. Not that they were good, but they served as a catalyst for future masterpieces.  
Vissenvaib remembered the change very well. She received a book for her twelfth birthday: “Sionainn the Neither in the Academy of Divination.” It was aesthetically pleasing to look at but also filled with long and difficult phrases. The half-elf came up with a solution: she took advantage of the book’s wide margins and wrote additional notes with a pencil.  
She spent boiling, flaming, and suffocating days in the library, examining the novel to her right and a wordbook to her left. A halfling scholar was sitting nearby, practising calligraphy.  
“Ms. Odorf?”  
“Yes, my child.”  
“Is «flying a kite» an idiom?”  
“It can be, but usually in imperative.”  
“Ah. Thank you.”  
Vissenvaib read, took notes, read again, browsed the dictionary, and read even more. It was a slow process but she didn’t give up.  
In the afternoon, she would go to the garden. She had a favourite spot: a straight path between tall bushes, nine steps long. Entranced, she walked back and forth, skipping, marching, running, and swaggering. Her arms swayed loosely as if their muscles were turned off. Her face reacted not to her surroundings but to her dreams – imaginary adventures of Sionainn, full of action, intrigue, suspense, magic, and romance. However, the romance in Vissenvaib’s mind differed from the romance in the book; in fact, it was more subtle and platonic than sensual.  
She spent two hours like this.  
Next, with a timing as precise as a Neverwinter clock, a human girl would meet Vissenvaib in the garden: an urchin in a pink hood, called Imoen.  
“Heya!”  
The half-elf froze in place. “Oh. Hey. How’s the rat hunting?”  
“Er, I… haven’t caught any. Too busy petting cats.”  
“Come on now, you can’t do that forever. Reevor will get angry.”  
“So what. He can’t climb buildings.” She smirked.  
Vissie’s cheeks enlarged. “Imû! Stop climbing stuff!”  
“But it’s fuuun.”  
“You’ll break something! Like, a leg!”  
“No, I won’t.”  
“Whenever one says, «No, I won’t,» life will give them a «Yes, you will.»”  
“No, it won’t.”  
“Iiimûûû…”  
Imoen giggled, looked at her inflated, disappointed friend, and bopped her on the nose. “Alright, alright. I’ll catch them rats tomorrow.”  
“But don’t climb houses, keĭ?”  
“I won’t… tomorrow.”  
Vissie threw her ears forward. “You mischief-maker.”  
  
During their evening conversation, Imoen picked up her ocarina, and raised her head, recalling something.  
“Hey, those bores from the second floor were talking about festivals and feasts. We might have our own festival this summer.”  
“Really? And what kinds of events will it have? A tournament?”  
“Not quite. Like, there will be a display of fights but from other regions.”  
Vissenvaib gasped. “Ale otlichnĭe! I wanna see that!”


End file.
